


Pride Is Not A Pretty Thing

by MarvelsMenace



Series: The Seven Sins of Matthew Murdock [7]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV)
Genre: M/M, Magic, jack is back from the dead for a short time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-08-13 23:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16481486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarvelsMenace/pseuds/MarvelsMenace
Summary: Pride has always gotten the Murdock boys into trouble, sometimes more than they could handle.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So while I still visualized the Netflix cast, I adapted more of the timeline for Jack’s death from the comics, as he was killed while matt was in law school, giving them a bit more time than what they had in the show. I think the relationship between Matt and Jack is really underrated, and Matt has such a love for his father, he just wants Jack to know that he loves him, and that he was proud of him in the end for everything.

Matthew Murdock has thoughts on the matter of pride being a sin. 

Hubris is one he is guilty of, understands how it can be a sin to believe that you are above all else, that you have the sole power to fix all of the problems in the world.  He doesn’t think he can save the world, but maybe he thinks during long nights on empty rooftops, maybe he can save his little corner of the city.

Pride though, that swelling of your heart when you see someone you love succeed, that’s something he feels often, sometimes daily, and as such feels should be exempt from the label of sin. 

Matt thinks of his father in the ring sometimes, others it’s of all he did to help him heal, help him succeed after the accident.  The braille books he still has from his childhood, locked away safely, the lingering scent of old spice precious in the plastic amidst his favorite boxing robe.

His pride for Foggy is a different sort, watching him as only he can before a court, defending the innocent as Matt tracks him, sometimes from his seat at the front, others from a spot behind the bar, the racing heart beating within his own as Foggy fights for what’s right and what needs to be done.

This type of pride, as innocent as it is, is usually tainted by greed and lust, the urge to show the world that Foggy is a part of him, the near physical need to whisk him home after the proceedings and stop for nothing until their bodies are bare against each other on the silk sheets of his bed.  Sometimes they don’t even make it that far.

 

Matt is torn from his thoughts as he crosses down an alley at street level, all but running into a group of thugs surrounding the hunched form of someone amidst their tall bodies.  He hadn’t even sensed them, not a single hint that anyone or anything had been in the alley aside from a rat after something under the dumpster.  Nonetheless he throws his body weight into the group as a distraction with little forethought, leading with his fists in hope that the innocent of the moment can get away safely.

The thugs go down easy, the last one falling unconscious atop the dirty concrete at his feet, a puddle of questionable substance slowly seeping into his clothing.  There were only half a dozen of them at most, their fighting uncoordinated and unprofessional at best.  Matt’s breathing is barely altered, so used to the heavy hitters and quick agility fighters he normally runs into on patrol.  There is off about this, a prickle against him similar to what he’s felt of magic, but his senses are giving him zero hints about whatever it might be. 

“Well that was impulsive.”

He wants to crawl out of his skin, the voice shocking him in a way that he hasn’t felt in a very long time, so unused to being able to sense everyone and everything around him.  It seems to echo within him in time with the soundwaves out in the open.  His boots scrape on uneven gravel as he whirls to face the voice, the echoes of her voice, he’s sure whatever it is, is female, helping to give him an outline to focus on.  The hunched form from earlier is standing tall before him, straight and strong, unlike the geriatric body he had expected.  She smells of lamb’s wool and wood smoke, old herbs and shining gold.  The cues are almost overwhelming, and it’s as if he’s voiced the thought aloud when they are suddenly muted.

“That was an efficient rescue.  I was hoping to stumble upon someone else, but things happen for a reason I suppose.”

She laughs as if sharing an inside joke with someone else, and he half expects someone else to appear before him.  But after a moment, only they remain.

“Who are you?”

Her head tilts, but that’s about all he can tell.  Her form in his radar is fuzzy, as if a great interference or high-pitched signal is disturbing its functionality.

“I am many things, but right now I am a test for humanity.  And you were their representation.”

He shifts, trying to guard himself.  Something is coming, has to be, but he is unsure of what.

“What do you mean?”

A thoughtful sort of noise leaves her, followed by the soft noise of feet treading on pavement.

“I like to watch the mortal realm, fascinated by how you all have come since your gift of fire.  But not all of you are kind, and in the thoughts of others, do not deserve the life you have.  I test this theory on occasion.

“And your results?”

“You have passed, but others have not.  All too willing to stand by or turn an eye to the assault or misfortune of others for their own gain or greed.”

A chill sweeps through him, despite the layers of the suit.

“And what happened to those who didn’t passed?”

She’s silent for a long moment, thinking he thinks, on how much to tell her about these other representatives.

“It honestly depends on the case.  Some received gifts, others, curses.  Those that deserved it in their actions, while not many, were eliminated from this world.  Justice was served.”

Oh, does that not send a bubble of rage through him.

“That is what we have the justice system for.”

“Truly a creation in theory, but it has its faults does it not?  Otherwise you would not be our here in your scarlet suit.”

She has him there, and it makes him want to gnash his teeth. 

“Fair enough.”

“If you could have anything you desired Matthew.  What would it be?”

Immediately his thoughts flash to his father, and guilt surges in him.  Anything?  Foggy safe, from any harm that could come from their jobs in the legal system or his job as Daredevil.  But oh to have his father back, to have those final words he always wanted his father hear, to let him know everything he never told him, never made sure he knew.  This all precedes the realization that she had used his name, a name nobody beside a select few should have knowledge of

“Interesting.  Your time begins at sunrise tomorrow.  You will have forty-eight hours.”

Somehow, without a doubt, he knows that she’s seen his thoughts.  He knows of his dead father who cannot be hurt, and of Foggy who is very much able to be hurt.  She must still be watching, because she makes a quiet sound, almost sounding of reassurance.

“This is a gift, my thanks for saving me.  Your heart is true deep down, perhaps a bit conflicted, but still true.”

He moves to grab her, to ask more, but his hands slip through empty air.  Her voice is behind him, and he whirls, finding nothing there as well.

“ _Please_.  Who are you?”

There’s a smile in her voice when she speaks, and he has a strange sort of feeling that he might be the reason for it.  A warmth spreads along his front from nowhere, like he’s stepped before a great fire or heater of some sort.  His ears buzz, but he hears her clearly.  

“I have been called many things, for a very long time.  Tomorrow though, you can thank Vesta.”

Just as suddenly as he had come upon her, she is gone, the warmth of moments ago gone just as quickly in the cool fall air.  He’s honestly debating imagining it all before one of the thugs begins into stir, forcing him into movement as he alerts the police from his burner phone, and he scales the dumpster to the brick ledges of one of the buildings until he’s perched safely on the roof.

The rest of the night is fairly uneventful, a thwarted car robbery, lost and scared elderly man escorted to the facility he lived at.  No gunshot or knife wounds, and only one or two hits that may lead to bruises.  He decides to call it a night and head home, thankful for a Saturday so he can grab a few extra hours of sleep without the pressure of having to put on a suit and start on paperwork as soon as he gets out of bed. 

Foggy is dozing on the couch when he finally gets in, the smell of old paper and canvas telling him he probably fell asleep while reading, trying to stay up until Matt came home.  He presses a kiss to the soft hair of his head, speaking quietly until the heartbeat below rises into that pace of wakefulness and he’s bending further to meet soft lips in a real kiss.  After being assured that Matt has all of his blood and limbs Foggy heads into to the bedroom while he grabs a glass of water, downing it before making his way to the bedroom and its master bath, slowly unlatching the clasps and closures of the armor pieces, shucking the garb into a heap as the water of the shower heats up.  He washes quickly, forgoing clothes to climb into bed quicker.

Their bodies seem to gravitate to each other as he gets settled, legs tangling as he tucks his head under Foggy’s chin to snuggle against the softness of his torso.  His hands roam in a tired kind of worship, the soft material of Fogg’s shirt slipping under his fingers, one of the ones from college he thinks, if not high school judging by how thin the material has been worn in some spots.  Foggy’s free arm falls over him with a comfortable weight, the other securing the pillow under his head so Matt will have to try at least a bit harder if he wants to steal it.

His mind churns over the woman in the alley, and he fights to figure out if he had really met her, spoken to her.  What was it she had said?  _Tomorrow you can think Vesta._   He fights off the impending dread, and hopes that sleep will come quickly, the steady rise and fall of Foggy’s breath in his hair pulling him from the waking world before he can truly worry about insomnia.    

\-----     

A pounding on the door wakes him, incessant through the buzz of Foggy’s snores until he breaks through Foggy’s sleep cycle and he shifts from below Matt, the latter’s body draped over him. 

“It’s still dark out.  If the building is on fire just let me die.”

Matt makes a noise of affirmation rolling off and seeking refuge from the noise beneath the heap of blankets.

“I’m naked you have to answer it.”

“You’re a bitch is what you are Murdock.”

There’s a swat at the general vicinity of his ass, but he lets himself laugh a little bit, listening to the solid foot steps as he fights off the grip sleep still has on him.  There’s the slide of the chain in the lock above the door, then the deadbolt before the squeak of the hinge follows.  Matt is scrambling for clothes almost immediately, the jump of Foggy’s heartbeat screaming in him that something is _wrong, wrong, wrong_.  A pair of sweatpants from the floor where he tossed them before heading out last night, a shirt from the nightstand from earlier in the afternoon.  He should pick up better, but that’s something to worry about later.    

His back is pressed to the wall of the bedroom, listening.  Foggy’s heart rate is slowing back to normal, though he hasn’t spoken.  Is he being held up?  There’s no whiff of gunpowder or blood, so he focuses more, breathing in and reaching out.  Another heartbeat registers, calm and collected with just a small increase of excitement.  Matt tunes into it, strong and sturdy through two walls, and he feels an unexplained calm settle onto his shoulders, one he hasn’t felt in years. 

“Hey Matty.  Can you come here?”

Foggy’s voice is a forced calm, like when he knows Matt is going to lose his cool and he’s trying to do damage control before it even starts.  He nods to himself, straightening his shoulders before calling.

“Sure.”

His own voice is rough with sleep, but natural enough.

“Sure thing.”

He pushes off of the wall, waiting a moment so it doesn’t seem like he was listening right at the edge.  He stops in the door way as it all suddenly clicks in his sleep addled brain.  The smallest dab of old spice drifting with talcum powder from beneath a steady layer of worn khaki and cotton.  He takes a step forward before he knows what he’s doing and stops himself, shaking like a leaf as he fights between the need to run and the urge to throw himself at whatever this is.

“ _No_.”

“Matty?”

His father’s voice is as clear as a ringing bell in his ears, an overload of intake from only two of his senses that makes him want to crawl under the couch and investigate at the same time.  He heaves a breath, taking stock of the room, of what he knows is always there, of everything that isn’t this new variable.  He smells Foggy before he even makes contact with him, a gentle sort of consoling, familiar soft skin grounding him enough that his next breath actually feels like he’s getting oxygen.  Warm hands take his own slowly, and long hair tickles his cheeks as their foreheads touch.  

“ _Easy Matt_.  It’s him, I’m pretty sure.  Okay, you know I wouldn’t lie to you.  I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s okay.”

Matt swallows thickly and nods once to himself, then again to Foggy.

“Can-  Help me get to the couch?”

“Sure thing buddy.”

Foggy’s grip stays solid on one of his hands as they moved the small distance to the couch.  He sits with Matt, so in tuned to him at this point to know better.  He gives what is a hopefully reassuring to smile to one presently not dead Jack Murdock.  The door closes at the back, and he can ear strong and familiar footsteps break from behind them to take a chair on the other side of the coffee table.  He doesn’t sit though, eyes focused on his son as if he might vanish before his gaze.

Jack’s is eyeing their clasped hands, but Foggy forces himself to ignore it, despite the hammering of his heart that’s justly freaking out.  Jack stays silent, looking between the two of them before he’s moving slowly, his bulk seeming oh so large within the apartment that usually just holds one Nelson and Murdock. 

“Look at you Matty, you’re all grown up…”

Jack’s voice is quiet, like he’s sweet talking a nervous deer about to bolt, and Foggy isn’t even slightly surprised that he is just as in tuned to Matt if not more.  He moves closer, stopping on Matt’s other side before taking a seat as well, cushion dipping until Matt is in a small well between their two bodies.  Matt is hyper focused, the minor tilt of his head showing that he’s taking everything in, his free hand twitching on his knee disclosing how he wants to reach out to touch, _to see_.

“Here baby boy.  It’s me.”

Jack offers a hand between them, palm up, and Foggy eyes it like a set beartrap ready to snap.  But Matt seizes on it with his free hand, knuckles white as he grips it with all of his strength before he looks to Foggy for confirmation, unclasping their hands after a squeeze of assurance from Foggy.  Matt’s fingers are direct as he traces Jack’s hand between his two, sensitive touch sweeping over the back of the large hand before he moves onto the palm.  The boxer’s whole hand is a spiderweb of scaring over the skin, dips and rises like a map, while scarred fingers are crooked from past breaks in the ring.

It takes him a moment of watching, but Foggy soon realizes that Matt is tracing the pads of his father’s fingers, training every ounce of concentration he has onto taking in the loops and whorls of a finger print.  He must find the confirmation he’s looking for, in the next breath he’s launching himself into the arms of his father, his dad, great sobs wracking his body in a way that Foggy hasn’t witnessed in years. 

Jack only looks startled for a moment, then he’s wrapping massive arms around his son to pull him close, voice a calm and soothing bass.

“Easy Baby, daddy’s got you.  _You’re alright_.”

Foggy smiles wetly at jack as he rises, moving into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee they all desperately need.  He watches Jack’s back as the grounds brew above the pot, the gurgling of the machine drowning out words as Jack rocks side to side, his large frame holding Matt’s bulk in his arms like it was nothing.  There’s a melodic hum between words, and Matt’s wet voice supplying words to a song that must have some meaning to them the way Matt is calming enough to focus on it. 

Matt jerks up with a suddenness he almost cracks his head on Jack’s jaw, moving just enough he can peer over Jack’s shoulder to look in Foggy’s direction without sacrificing the closeness. 

“Foggy!”

His heart jumps with a surprised skip of a beat, the coffee he was pouring seeping over the edge of the mug he was filling as he jerks in response.

“What time was sunrise?”

Matt’s pretty sure his partner and his father are looking at him like he’s lost his mind, but he can hear the sticky sort of sound contact as Foggy’s thumbs tap at the screen of his phone.

“Seven o’ two if you want it down exactly.”

He can almost hear Foggy squint and turns to burrow as much as he can into his dad’s chest.

“ _Matthew_ , do you know what’s going on?”

He nods, even though he knows Foggy can’t see it from the kitchen, his father’s hand smoothing down his back grounds him as the panic starts to rise.  He had his dad back, but it was only for mere hours, a taste of something he would never get again.  He fought the thought back, voice shaky as he tried to right himself. 

“I saved someone last night, she came out of nowhere, thanked me.  She asked what I wanted, and you know dad’s been on my mind a lot lately.  Almost the-uh the anniversary.  She told me my time would start at sunrise, that I’d have forty-eight hours.”

He looks up to his father’s face, hands rising automatically to touch scarred cheeks and bottom lip, crooked nose below a strong brow, and God if he doesn’t want to curl up against him for the two days and just exist.

“What time is it now?

“Seven forty-five.”

  _Forty-seven hours and fifteen minutes._

Foggy sets about making breakfast to keep himself busy, his heart squeezing as he watches Matt in his state of pure contentment he can’t even achieve when it’s just the two of them.  He understands he thinks, to many walls, to many fears, unlike Jack who was the only constant Matt had truly had for a majority of his life.  Soon the apartment is full of the smell of frying potatoes and scrambled eggs, a pan for bacon sizzling on the back burner.  There’s enough bread left to make toast, but he’ll have to make a run to the store later for dinner things.

“All right, food and coffee Murdock clan.  Matt if you don’t eat I’ll start telling your dad all the trouble you’ve gotten up to.”

Matt glares at him over the back of the couch, hair standing on end and eyes squinting for dramatic effect.  He’s abandoned his glasses for comfort sake, and actually leaves them on the coffee table when he comes to get his forced nourishment.  Foggy’s favorite side of matt is like this, bare and relaxed in their homes, comfortable in his skin.  He sits to his dad’s right like its nothing, and Foggy to Matt’s before they tuck in, a quiet contentment settling onto them as the light crawls across the floor with the rising sun.

“So.”

The single word falls heavy from Jack.  He’s cradling his cup of coffee between his two hands, dwarfing it with their size.  Matt’s right foot is resting atop Foggy’s left, grounding him, though he can see that wrinkle between his eyes form as his brow furrows at something in his father’s voice.

“I see you both have finally stopped pining for each other, but it’s been how long of bullshit an neither of you have a ring?”

Foggy chokes on his sip of coffee and Matt looks like he wants to crawl under the table, his voice just a bit shy of strained.

“Pining seems like it might be a bit much.”

“Matty, baby, love of my life.  Do you know how much I heard you talk about Foggy that first semester?  After you all worked out your growing pains I knew this boy’s daily routine, and his favorite food for every part of the pyramid.  The names of all the girls he flirted with that you didn’t like by the winter break too.”

Foggy can feel a flush scaling his throat, tickling his jaw until his cheeks are scarlet.  Jack’s gaze is suddenly on him, and he fights the urge to shrink in his chair.  He’d seen the Battlin’ side of Jack Murdock only a few times in the ring, but he had no intention of forgetting it or going up against it.

“I know Matty never had the best picks in the romance department, but I had always hoped you’d pull ahead.  Certainly could use more common sense in his life, but the trait isn’t too strong with the Murdock boys.”

Foggy tries for a weak laugh but remains slightly terrified Jack is going to kill him. 

“Well, uh- We’d be a lot closer if your son would own up to his ring size.  Can’t get anything past him.”

Jack’s laugh is like a thunder clap, head thrown back in honest delight.

“God love you Franklin, you get it.  Don’t know how hard it was to get stuff past this kid after, well, after everything.  Glad he came clean with you…”

It’s somewhat sobering, and Matt is trying to figure out what exactly he means until the pieces click into place like cogs.

“Wait, you knew.  About my senses?”

Jack gives him a smile, he can hear it in the way he talks, the tick of his heart jumping with pleasure.

“I was guessing a lot, but it was the only thing I could figure when you were still struggling with noises and headaches, when you used to track me at the gym, no matter how crowded, you always knew where I was.  I tried to look into books, but nobody had ever really heard of it like that, sure hearing can be better, but Baby you could do things that people just couldn’t.”

There’s an unsaid _normal_ in front of the ‘people’ part of the sentence.  Matt wonders if he had ever made too many questions for his dad to answer, not hidden everything well enough, but his father’s massive hand on his own puts all thought at a standstill, the surreal feeling of that touch again grounding him just as it had all those years ago.

“You were so brave dealing with all of that, I never imagined that tiny boy I used to hold in these big paws could grow up like you did.”

Matt sniffs, nodding his head.


	2. Chapter 2

7pm

12 hours in

 

* * *

 

Foggy needed a plan for dinner, and he had a feeling Matt and his dad could use some time for themselves to sort out things never said what with the unexpected murder and all.  God if that isn’t fucked up…  The closest grocery store was a few blocks away, and with the time of actually walking there and deciding on something before paying and walking back, Matt and his dad will have hopefully taken care of what they needed too. 

He had a pretty good idea of what Matt wanted to know, what he needed to, to try to rest a bit easier with his father’s death all those years ago.  It was all too easy to remember the nights of insomnia or sleep talking after Jack’s death.  Of the words slurred half by drink and half by sobs after Foggy had gone with Matt to the morgue to finish paper work.  Too many questions, and not enough answers filled him until it was a heap that Foggy could only help to shape back into something resembling Matt Murdock. 

 OoOoO

“Were you scared?”

Jack sighs, knowing damn well how shit his odds are for avoiding this.  They were back on the couch, Jack watching the light of the sun die in the windows, while Matt listened to the happenings of the block.  Their beers sat untouched and sweating on the coffee table, both too worried that they might miss something if a drop of alcohol so much as touches their tongues.  Jack thought on the answer for a moment, honestly looking back to some hazy memory that seems so far off now.

“I knew the fixer wouldn’t be happy.  Knew it the moment I locked eyes with him when they raised my arm as winner.  Barely spared it a glance though, Matty that’s smile you had could have rivaled the sun.  I figured I still made good money for their hustle though, I could take a beating out back, wouldn’t even fight it, maybe a week or two to walk it off and get back to business.  But I think they were worried it would happen again, that I had become unpredictable.  They couldn’t risk it.  They wanted to make an example, because I wasn’t the only monkey they had dancing up in those rings.”

He sighs again, a heavy thing.  He had wanted Matt to be proud of him, and in that one act of his own selfish pride, he had lost Matt to the living world.  Jack had missed him graduate, missed his practice opening, hell he had missed that glorious moment where he finally learned to get his shit together with Nelson.   

Matt is still beside him, mouth tight as the thoughts churn in his head.  His voice is small when he speaks, tentative like a child prepared to get scolded. 

“It was my fault then.  I made you get up, I-“

Jack cuts Matt off with a near shout, immediately regretting it as younger man flinches from the sudden sound.

“No!  Matty, baby no.  I was selfish, I wanted to make you proud.  Wanted you to see, well, to know that your dad wasn’t on the bottom for once.  That your daddy could win.”

He’s always been emotional, but is more so than ever as he seizes his son’s hands and puts them to his face to he can take in the seriousness of his expression.  Matt is taking quick breaths in front of him, thoughts he’s obviously had for some time spilling from his lips. 

“I should have kept waiting with you in the locker room, should have walked with you back home. I-!”

He’s cut off by his own tears spilling as he clutches his father too him, pain and regrets, too many what ifs that could have saved his father.  Could have kept him in his life.  Hid voice is a broken thing when he speaks, more on top of his father’s massive form than not.  Jack’s hand is on his head, softly brushing aside his hair. 

“No baby, because who knows if they would have hurt you or Franklin.  I couldn’t risk that.”

Matt makes a heart wrenching noise into his chest, the material of his shirt clenched in a pale fist.  He hiccups a few times as he calms, preparing himself to ask the next question. 

“Did it hurt?”

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to guess his meaning, and Jack answers almost immediately, owing his son the honesty.

“Honestly Matty, I didn’t feel a thing.  I heard foot steps behind me, thought it was just someone headed home like me.  A soft sort of click, then nothing.  I think I went somewhere, but they don’t want me giving out secrets.  I don’t remember it right now. I was happy there though, wherever it is.”

His son nods, satisfied for the moment. 

They spend the rest of the hour in a comfortable quiet, just being with each other until Matt perks up and Foggy is turning the key in the lock to let himself in.  Jack’s lap is cold as Matt gets up to help with the small load of groceries he has, carrying them into the kitchen before he begins pilfering through the paper sack.

Foggy swats his hands away with a healthy force, making Jack chuckle as he stands to join them.  He lays out everything he gathered along the kitchen counter, sending a small prayer that his mother wont find out he bought meat from somewhere other than the family shop.

“Alright, all hands on deck if you want to eat before midnight.”

“With an order like that, I’ll need some more direction Franklin.  A couple of fists to the face is bad for directions that aren’t straight forward.”

Foggy rolls his eyes, wondering how he didn’t see this uncanny similarity between the two men when he had known them all those years before.  He points a celery stalk at Jack accusingly, serious all mock.

“Sir.  You’re going to assist with chopping up all these vegetables while your son does his weird spice trick with the broth.  I’m going to cut up this poor excuse for a cut of beef, and in an hour, we’ll have stew on the table to go with this French bread some old lady tried to fight me for.”

Matt’s shoulders are shaking in silent laughter from his place by the stove, already thumbing the tags on the small spice jars they keep in a drawer by the stove.  With extras from dinner last night, Matt is luckily saved from having to sit on the roof while someone chops onions, a small stash pulled from the fridge by Foggy as he collects the carrots and tomatoes they had picked up earlier in the week. 

With the smell of cooking food and laughter wrapped voices, the apartment feels more home like than ever, and while he hopes Matt isn’t thinking about it, Foggy knows that it will feel all the more empty when they have one less person filling the small space.

Sure enough an hour later, with only a few minor nicks from sharp objects being used less than safely, Matt, they are sitting down with a heavenly smelling soup and embarrassing stories about Matt that Foggy hadn’t known he was missing out on.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**1am**

**18 Hours in**

 

* * *

 

Jack chases them off to bed around midnight, swearing up and down that he will not take their bed, just give him a damn blanket for the couch and go to bed Matthew.  Foggy knows Matt well enough that he’ll probably end up asleep out on the floor beside his father, and a small pang flutters in his heart at that kind of longing.  They are closer than not to finishing the first half of this experience, and time is heavy on all of them, Matt not wanting the sand of the hourglass to run out, Jack apprehensive of the fact that he knows he is going to die this time around. 

Sure enough, as soon as Foggy’s breathing evens out, Matt grabs the extra blanket from the foot of their bed and drags it out with him to the living room.  He’s sore from the night before, but with his altered sleep cycle he feels on edge and restless.  Jack turns over, and Matt is instantly aware that he is still awake a rumble of quiet laughter rolling like thunder in his chest when he catches sight of his son. 

“Still a night owl?”

“Can’t sleep, knowing you’re out here, and I’m wasting it with my eyes shut.”

He settles beside the couch, pressing his back against the front of the thing before pulling his blanket up over his lap.  Jack’s hand barely has to move from its place at his side to run calloused fingers through Matt’s hair, soothing the tension from him.

“How about you lay your head down, and I’ll hum that song from where you were a kid.”

Matt considers it for a moment before he’s yawning hugely and figures that resting his eyes, working or not, for a few minutes won’t hurt anything.  Right here he can smell his father’s all spice and feel his heart beat through the legs of the couch when he touches them.  True to his word, Jack starts humming, a song that may not even have ever had words Matt thinks, the melody of it resonating with the deep level of Jack’s tone.  The man can’t sing for anything, but when Jack was a baby, he would hum for hours with the baby on his chest, the happy gurgles as he thumped his tiny fists against the vibrations of the noise. 

Just like back then, Matt is snoring in moments, breathing in through his noise, a soft puff of air following from his mouth as he exhales.  Jack thinks he won’t sleep tonight, something involved with the reason he’s here maybe, but he lets an arm hang until his hand is resting on his Son’s back, and he keeps humming until he can’t anymore. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**7am**

**24 Hours In**

 

* * *

 

 

“You held onto my stuff?  Baby, none of that was worth anything.” 

Matt is thankful, and not for the first time, that he had only used one of Jack’s robes for his vigilante work, for no other reason than that of still having one whole for his own memories.  One day he might frame it, when the ache of grief lessens, if it ever does, but some days he likes to be able to come home and feel the silk of it slide between his fingers, the embroidered letters under his hand.  He drags out the trunk will little ceremony, feeling like it deserves more as it bumps over the rug in front of the couch and falls heavy at his father’s feet.

“It-  It was all I had left.  Someone offered to buy it a few years ago, I told him to get lost.”

Rage simmers in his gut at the memory, some old war vet calling him to see if he had any of Battlin’ Jack’s possessions he was interested in trading for cash.  Matt had indeed told him to get lost, though with a lot more swearing and insults.  He listened to the creak of hinges after the pop of the closures, the blooming aroma of wood, silk from his robe and leather from the gloves.  Jack paws through it in short order, not focusing on something for long before he makes a pleased sort of noise as his hands press against the lid of the trunk. 

“As grabby as you are, and this thing hasn’t been opened?  Pardon the pun, but you’ve lost your touch.”

Foggy howls with laughter over his as Matt rolls his blind eyes, the crisp sound of tearing paper makes him no less quick to catching the soft noise as something is released from the lid of the trunk.  The smell of dust after a quick puff of air from Jack has Matt sneezing and he rubs at his nose. 

It’s small, whatever it is, resting in Jack’s massive palm.  He’s showing it to Foggy, and his heart is beating faster than it had, been, drawing sightless eyes to his father.  Foggy takes it into the kitchen and bangs around in the cabinets for a time before turning the tap on.  Jack clears his throat, watching Foggy for a moment before turning back to his son. 

“I want you to know Matthew, that I loved your mama.  With all of my heart.  The boys at the gym used to bad mouth her, and I always defended her, and swore I would until the day I died.  I always hoped she would come back.  Which is why I have this.”

He takes the object from Foggy as he comes back, rubbing his fingers over it before he passes it to Matt.  The metal is warm from the tap at the sink as he rolls it between his fingers, finding the open middle as he touches every inch of it.  It’s a ring, strong steel hammered on the outer face to make a simple metal somewhat ornate.

“It’s not much.  I didn’t need anything fancy, so I got me something simple and used the rest to buy your mama a pretty little gold one.”

Matt hands it back somewhat reluctantly, and he can sense his father tracing it with a single finger, like a piece of fragile glass.  He wonders if it would even fit, all those years of hard hits and damaged joints, and wonders again if it would fit his hand, resting right above bruised knuckles.  He’s pulled out of the rabbit hole of thoughts as Jack shifts, turning to face Foggy in his seat in one of the arm chairs. 

“Now you’re down one less excuse.”

The wind whistles through the center as the ring spins through the air, caught in the cup of Foggy’s hands with grace he doesn’t normally have.  The implication is clear after their conversation the day before.  Matt has wanted to marry Foggy for some time, loves the idea, but part of him still hides in tat knot of fear and whispers that one day Foggy will realize that he’s too good for Matt.

His heart starts to race from across the room, skipping a beat as he stands, and another as he kneels at Matt’s feet. 

“Foggy you don’t-“

“I swear to God if you don’t let me have this moment.  Say no when I’m done if you really have to.”

Matt his mouth with a barely audible click of his teeth.

“I want you to know, that I am not doing this because your dad told me to.  I’m doing it because I love you, your dad being here is just a bonus. And I finally have a ring that means something.”

Matt can smell salt, and wonders if it’s his tears blooming, or if they’re coming from his dad or Foggy.

“I’d joke and say I fell in love with you the moment you walked through that door in the dorm room, but that love is superficial to the love I found as our friendship grew.  Now, all those years later, through lessons, interning, starting the firm, and the disasters that followed it, I think I can’t love you anymore than I do, and you prove me wrong again and again.  Matty, I would be beyond happy if you would continue to let me love you for the rest of our lives.  Marry me?”

He can’t hear anything in the room over the hammering of his own heart roaring in his ears.  He nods wordlessly, voice caught in his throat.   He takes Foggy’s face in his hands tracing the lines of his smile with his thumbs as the tears spill over for the both of them, making his cheeks slick beneath his searching fingers.  Matt lets himself fold forward, pressing a wet kiss across Foggy’s temple, the side of his nose, his cheeks and lips before a thought stuck him and he pulled back.       

“Be right back.”

He crossed to the bedroom, step quick without the need to hide the fact that he can get around unassisted, opening his closet, fingers skimming the Braille tags on the hangars before he found which one he was looking for.  It was one of his heavier winter coats, shoved in the back until the cooler weather hit.  He slipped a hand past the zipper to the inside of the coat, finding the inner breast pocket, and the small package he had stored there.

He held tight to it as he crossed back to the living room, tuned out so much that he wasn’t even catching what Foggy and his dad were taking about.  Foggy had moved up to sit on the couch, and Matt took a spot next to him, pulling his warm hands into his lap as he spoke.

“I’ve had this for a while.  I wanted to buy it the first week we started dating but, I held back for a month.  You’re the best parts of me Fog, and I’ll never say otherwise because you are what makes me fight for good and for everything I stand for.  Now that you’re committed, I have to stop dragging my feet.”

His hands shook as he pressed the ring into Foggy’s hands.  It was shining gold according to the small shop he had bought it from, and Claire had confirmed for him that it was perfect.  It was a simple gold band with a small engraving on the inside that he knew foggy saw the moment his laughter echoed through the apartment.

He had had to assure he shop owner a few times, and pay a deposit when he had requested it, but he memorized the feel of it under his fingers the day he brought it home.

A small engraved picture of an avocado half, complete with seed rested inside the band

“Because you’re the better half.”

Foggy thinks he should be at least partially embarrassed kissing Matt thoroughly in front of his not dead father, but when he sheepishly looks to Jack, the older man is wiping away stray tears with a smile.

“I’m proud of you boys.  I need you to know that.  I was proud of you all in school, and I’m just as proud, if not more, right now.”


	5. Chapter 5

**11am**

**30 Hours In**

 

* * *

 

 

“ _Matt,_ you are not staying up for two days straight, I don’t care if you napped last night.  I’m meaner than I was in college, remember?”

He’s trying to hide behind his father, though is pretty much failing with Jack siding against him.  The larger man was sipping at his coffee ignoring the human child pressed against his back.

“This is treason.”

Jack rolls his eyes, knowing just who he got the dramatic gene from.

“A nap is not going to kill you baby.  I’m not about to deal with you being overtired.  I remember enough of that from when you were a kid to last.”

Matt makes an irritated noise when he realizes he’s being ganged up on.

“Fine.  I’ll take a nap on one condition.”

Foggy has to be leveling some sort of severe look his way, because the hairs on the back of his neck rise.  He sighs though, motioning widely for Matt to continue so he can see it.

“Call Father Lantom and have him come over this evening so my dad can see us get married.”

Whatever Foggy had been expecting, it apparently wasn’t anywhere in the vicinity to that response.

“Really?”

He bites his lower lip, but nods.  His dad is chuckling from somewhere else in the kitchen, having given up his position as shield to find food, but Matt is staying focused on Foggy.  His heart had given and enthusiastic skip when he had grasped what Matt was asking, but it only held a pace of excitement now.

“I want this Foggy, and despite everything we’ve been through, we cant stay away from each other.  Why wait any longer?”

 Foggy reaches him in just a couple of steps, taking his face in his hands before pressing their lips softly together.  Their foreheads touch as he pulls back, a smile pulling at his words when he speaks.

“Okay Matty, but I’m expecting a good nap out of you.”

He allows Foggy to shuffle him off to bed, succeeding in pulling him down with him.  They lay side by side, the silence compatible until Matt speaks.

“When you call, can you do something for me?

His voice is low, and he can feel Foggy stiffen with apprehension at his hushed tone. 

“Tell Lantom what happened, or something that doesn’t sound sacrilegious.  I want dad to have his last rights given, just in case.”

He nods but can obviously see that Matt is fighting with another idea bouncing around in his skull.    His mouth works silently for a moment before he gets the words out. 

“Ask to talk to Maggie and ask her to come.  You can tell her about us, you can tell her about dad, or not.  But she deserves this, because even though things between them didn’t work, she lost him too.”

Foggy has met Sister Maggie all of two times on purpose and once on accident in the grocery store when he was sans Matt.  She was Matt’s mother, Jack’s wife (since there was no divorce), hell she had a lot to go by.   But Maggie was essentially someone who should be involved with this situation, he agreed with Matt on that a tad reluctantly.  He smoothed the wrinkle in Matt’s brow with a chaste kiss.

“Okay.  Close those pretty eyes and snuggle in, I’ll call right now.”

 

OoO

 

The call actually went over fairly well, what with all the variables considered. 

Father Lantom would be over around late in the afternoon along with all his priestly implements he would need for the odd combination of requests.  The man had sounded curiously excited about the prospect of it all.  Foggy was curious if it would be too ridiculous to go to the flower shop for some budget boutonnieres.

After Lantom had put him on hold and tracked her down to talk, Maggie had actually agreed to come with little pressure, though she would be joining them an hour or so after Father Lantom arrived.  She cared about Matt, it was clear, but this was something for Matt and his partner, and his father she explained.  Her appearance had the chance to upset that and she refused to risk it.  Foggy understood her reservations.  Luckily Matt was fairly close to a toddler and had passed out before that decision had been made, curled around Foggy’s hip and asleep as soon as he had stilled for more than ten seconds.   

Foggy heaved himself out of bed and away from Matt’s warmth to move to the main area of the apartment, trying to figure out what a wedding had that they didn’t.  With a question like that, a lot to things.  He blew out a breath, turning to where jack was halfheartedly flipping through a magazine on the couch. 

“Why don’t you go crash with your kid for a bit.  I’m going to run out for a few things.”

Foggy slips into a light coat and scarf before hitting the streets, he thought maybe roasted chicken and vegetables would be something easy that they could make enough of to feed everyone without too much hassle.  He’s broken from his thoughts as Jack pauses by his side, coming to shuffle beside him as he tries to decide on what he wants to say.  His first words are gruff, and part of Foggy is worried he’s changing his mind about all of this until the words catch up to his over tired brain.

“Thank you.”

There’s a delay before Foggy can reply, mentally kicking his apparently overactive filter.

“I’m sorry?”

Jack chuckles, though it’s pained like Foggy is making this hard on purpose.

“Thank you, for taking care of Matty.”

_Oh._

“I did what anyone would do, I mean I think I did?”

“Franklin there’s one thing to support a friend, a disabled one at that, through a death, but a murder.  That breaks people, and I think Matty would have been broken without you at his side.”

His throat is tight, and his eyes are burning, but Foggy nods.

“My family was, is huge.  We always had each other growing up, I think it was the first thing you learned.  Nobody messed with the nelson’s because we were a clan if anything.  So when Matt walked in that first day of school, I had his back.  That first holiday after you were, well, gone?  I brought him home, didn’t want him alone at the dorms.  Mom took one look at Matt and brought him in without his say in the matter.  Nelson and Murdock has been going on for longer than either of us realized.”

Jack chuckles, sounding just as emotional as Foggy.

“I cant tell you how happy I am that he has someone who cares like you, who can live with it.  Accepting his...”  He pauses a moment.  “Talents?  Yah that’ll work.  That’s not easy.”

Foggy makes a noise in the back of his throat.

“It didn’t go over well at first, but I think I finally realized I’d rather have him with superpowers than not at all.”

Suddenly his air supply is cut off and he realized that the massive boxer is hugging him, all brute strength wrapped around Foggy.  He’s pretty sure Jack could pick him up and throw him if he wanted to. 

“I mean it from the bottom of this big heart Franklin.  Thank you for loving my baby boy when I cant.”

 

OoO

 

After a break in the lobby of the building to compose himself, Foggy heads down the street, knocking dinner off his mental list with a stop into the grocery store, popping a nice bottle of champagne into his basket beside the French bread he had grabbed on the way in.  He collects the dinner things in short order, luckily not bumping into anyone he knows who will notice the lack of Matt on his arm or his red rimmed eyes. 

There’s a bakery across the street, and he’s able to snag the last real sized cake from the case, a sharp looking black and white creation with chocolate filling and soft buttercream.  He’s able to guilt the girl behind the counter into adding a few red roses for his own amusement, telling her about his rushed wedding with the surprise visit of his father in law. 

He decides to skip the flowers, not wanting to risk anything overpowering, anything mild isn’t in season now, and another addition may just turn into a sensory overload for sleep deficit Matt.  Part of him wants to get something else for Matt, knowing that Matt chose a ring for him, but he doesn’t want to rush the decision.  Matt was clearly beyond elated with being able to use his father’s ring, used before he threw himself further into his boxing career, and such before broken fingers and swollen joints.  The steel band had fit Matt just shy of perfectly when they had tested the fit the other night, and his father had joked that one good break, or even dislocation would have the knuckle swell enough to lock it in place.  They had laughed, but Matt’s ears had gone pink in a way that meant he knew he was getting a lecture from Foggy later on the subject of intentional injury. 

Foggy is back at the apartment within an hour or so, only a bit windburned, and chilled enough he’s grateful for Matt’s crappy radiator.  When he pokes his head into the bedroom after putting everything away, Jack is dead to the world on his back in the center of the bed, Matt draped horizontally across his torso like an overzealous cat.  He’s got a few hours to kill, so Foggy sets an alarm and settles in for a cat nap of his own on the couch. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! This one really ran away from me. I have one more chapter, and a bonus and we are done! Look for my DD Secret Santa and Bingo fills that will be out next month!

**36 hour mark**

**7pm**

 

* * *

 

 

They get married on the rooftop of Matt’s building, the smell of fall thick in the air with decaying leaves and rain on the wind, the last breath of life clinging to the window box flowers that everyone in the city seems to have. The sun is just beginning to sink behind the tall forms of the high-rise buildings on the horizon, the gleaming sunburst reflecting off of thousands of windows to spread the glow further across the line of the city.

Matt faces the sun, blind eyes unbothered and shining with a glowing brilliance and what might be brimming tears across from him.  He had removed his glasses when they were ready to start, his wall of defense that he didn’t need with the man across from him.  His eyes are “focused” somewhere around Foggy’s left ear, but they are there, and they are so bare and beautiful that it makes Foggy’s heart ache. 

The light is warm on his front, save for the coolness cast by Foggy’s shadow falling upon his torso.  The priest clears his throat, eager to begin so that they may hold the ceremony before darkness settles over them.  He’s smiling though, Matt can hear it in his voice, and Foggy can see the sincerity of it, the pride in the boy he had taken under his wing all those years ago.

“I gathered that as with your love, this would be an unconventional sort of ceremony.  Nothing would be more fitting for the pair of you.  Nonetheless, we are here today to celebrate the blessed union between these two men in the eyes of God and their witness.”

He smiles at Foggy reassuringly and frees a hand from the bible in his hands to clasp Matt on the shoulder briefly.  The younger man sniffles for a moment before Foggy is cutting him off.

“Don’t start with me Matty.  You cry, and your dad will cry, and I’ll cry. And I forgot the tissues downstairs.”

Father Lantom laughs at them, a warm and loving sound that warms Foggy to his core as the man opens his book, the thin papers whispering in his ears as he finds his place.  There’s a mirth brimming within the group of men as the pair clasp hands before the priest, and Matt grins with the same glee as Father Lantom reads his passage, a twinge in his cheek not even diminishing his smile until it’s their turn to speak. 

“ _Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm, for love is strong as death, jealousy is fierce as the grave.”_  

They lose themselves in each other for a moment, the touch and vision, the mere presence of the other half of their pair blocking out the city.  A hand is squeezed in a firm grip, reassuring and supportive through the drone that Matt is all too familiar with.  Foggy has never been very religious, and he’s thankful that the readings are on the neutral edge of other services he has overheard in his time around the church.  They are brought back to the moment with a change of tone, and the clearing of Jack’s throat, the later seeing the wandering attention all too clearly.  He doesn’t blame them, remembering his own small and intimate wedding all too well.    

“ _Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor.  If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up.  Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone?_ ”

A cool breeze moves through through them with suspicious timing, a soft noise oh so similar to the beating of a bird’s wings following as it catches among the thin bible pages.  The father marks his place, turning the honor of speaking over to his charge of so many years, now even further from the boy he had arrived in his care as.

Matt speaks first, not sure how he can follow a passage like that but knowing all too well how things will go if Foggy is allowed to speak before him.  It sends with his throat closed and an inability to speak, but like the first time Foggy told him he loved him.  His heart is already distracting enough. 

His father stands at his other side, closing in the small circle of interesting circumstances. 

“I feel like I should be calling you Franklin, but that’s not the you that I know, that I love.  That’s Foggy and I’m pretty sure I’ve loved you since that second month in law school.  You cared for me in a way that hadn’t allowed myself in far too long, despite all my efforts to deny it from you as well.”

He shakes his head, smiling wider at the memory of Foggy showing him around campus, making excuses to be at Matt’s side to study in the library or catch a late lunch, running late to his own classes because he got distracted walking with Matt to his own.

“You were stubborn, and incessant, and I fell a little bit harder each time you took my hand and placed it on your arm to walk to class, as natural as if we had been doing it like that our whole lives.  I wasn’t a burden, and your attention wasn’t from uncomfortable pity.  You gave me your friendship and later, a family.  I kept things from you, things that I shouldn’t have, and for far too long.  Not just about my abilities, but about my love as well.  I vow to be honest with you, and in that, no matter how much I tell you, I will never be able to express how very much I love you.”

He has to stop to take a breath, swallowing back the thickness in his throat before he can continue.  A drop of moisture escapes as he blinks, but he ignores it, squeezing the hands in his own. 

“I Matthew Murdock, take you Franklin Nelson as my husband.  I promise to love and protect you until my dying breath, to be your best friend, and your biggest supporter, to always be in your corner for your fights.  I promise to fight for you and your cause, and what we believe is right.  It is because of you I have joy in my life, and I swear to give you just as much happiness in our life together as you have given me.”

The burn of salt in the air makes his nose itch, and he wrinkles it in a way that has Foggy chuckling wetly across from him, unwilling to abandon his grip on the other’s hand.  He takes a moment to compose himself, blowing a few errant strands of blond hair from his eyes before he speaks.  He smiles wetly, and immediately has to look away after glancing at Jack, the older man on the verge of tears being the opposite of grounding for his emotions right now. 

“I should have gone first.  How do I stand up to that?”

There’s laughter among the quartet of gentlemen before he speaks again, his voice is strong and sure like all those times Matt has listened to him question in court.

“I had known I was in trouble as soon as you walked through that door, handsome wounded duck exterior and all.” 

That receives an odd look from the others, but a dusting of pink colors Matt’s cheeks. 

“Let me tell you, I regretted that description for years as true as it was out of pure embarrassment.  I couldn’t have asked for a better roommate or a better friend to power through the hell that was law school.  I tried so many times to stop loving you, terrified that I would ruin the most important friendship I had ever found myself in, but you would do something so Matt like, that the feelings would dig their way deeper into my heart like a tree taking root.  I promise to give you my patience alongside my love, though I easily have more love than patience, to give bad narrations of movies, and to help you at non ADA compliant facilities before I help you sue them.”

Matt throws his head back with a laugh that echoes in the alley behind them. 

“I Franklin Nelson, promise to stay by your side through life’s trials, to be the sunshine on your face, and the warmth in your heart.  I promise to tend your wounds, and to be by your side when life is easy and when life is hard.  Because we all know that being married to you will bring out that tough side of life.”

Foggy releases his grip alongside his joking tone, the softness of his skin sliding on the wool of his slacks as he retrieves the ring.  He presses the band to the pad of his index finger.  Sliding it slowly so matt can take in the inner edge.  The bumps are barely raised, but enough for his sensitive touch to register it. 

_You are whole._

A sob catches in his chest, and Foggy raises a hand to press a kiss against his knuckles, slightly bruised, but not scabbed for once.  He moves the ring to the correct finder, sliding it past the knuckle until it rests in its place.  The ring fits perfectly, the steel already warm against his skin from Foggy’s body heat.  Despite the lack of doubt and cold feet, they had kept the others ring until the small ceremony, feeling it right to wait.  Foggy had apparently taken this as an opportunity to dig his roots even further into Matt’s very soul. 

For so long he had felt inadequate, broken, that he was unsure if he would ever feel that far off peace of his youth ever again. But as he slides the gold band into place on Foggy’s ring finger, something settles into his shoulders, into his center, that feels like a peaceful contentment he had been waiting decades for.  Matt presses a kiss to his open palm, soft and free of scars, so different from his own hands, made for fighting in place of Foggy’s love giving ones. 

Father Lantom closes his bible and spreads his arms, placing a hand on each of the young men’s shoulders as he speaks his final verse he had chosen for them.  He had found it while skimming earlier, unhappy with the usual verses he provided for couples to use on their wedding day.  But this had felt right, even though for the longest time the two men had already been joined as one in a sense of business and friendship. 

“ _So. they are no longer two, but one.  Therefore, what God has joined together, let man not separate._ ”

There is a wide smile evident in his voice and a happiness in his heart when he speaks again.

“You may now kiss the groom.”

And _God_ is it a kiss.  Tentative and gentle before they are cupping each other’s cheeks and striving to pull breath from the other’s lungs until Jack wolf whistles loud enough for Matt to flinch.  That brings them back to the moment at hand, flushed and slightly out of breath, but grinning as hard as ever amidst the amusement of the others.  Jack wraps them both in a crushing hug, hugging Matt a second time as he openly cries, so proud of his boys.  They hold hands as they walk back to the roof access door of the apartment, releasing the grip so as not to tumble down the stairs before they are side by side again, the mere presence of the other so decadent at the moment. 

Celebratory glasses of whiskey are passed around by Matt as Foggy begins pulling out the things he had picked up for dinner earlier in the afternoon, the fumes a heavy burn in the back of his throat.  Foggy toasts Matt’s glass with his own, and he thinks the soft chime of connecting glass may be one of the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard.

 

* * *

 

Maggie arrives as they are finishing up the rest of the prep work for dinner, Matt chopping vegetables while Foggy butterflies the chicken for the pan.  She’s early, and had apparently planned it that way, Matt picking up on her with his peripheral range of sensations, pacing on the side walk before the building until she has worked herself up enough to enter with the code he gave her.  She pauses in the lobby, but her tread is sure and solid on the steps.  Matt abandons his bowl of seasoning he was finishing reaching for to answer the door, catching it before her knock can fall, and not needing sight to know Foggy was giving him a look as he scuttled out of the kitchen. 

Lantom and Jack are talking at the kitchen table with an easiness that is surprising for a member of the church and a person who up until a day ago was deceased.  He slides the chain and cracks the door, taking in the outline of her slight frame.  Her hands are wringing, but she’s here.  Dressed in a modest dress, with her hair pulled back from her face, Maggie seems more alive than ever.  She takes a step back as he steps into the hallway, leaving the door cracked behind him.  Her heart is pounding in his ears, and he wishes he knew a way to soothe her.

“If you don’t want to-“

She shakes her head before he can finish, poking his chest with a finger. 

“ _Stop being nosey_.  People can be nervous, it’s one of the things that makes us human.”

Her tone carries the same bite he woke up to that first day in the church, and he smiles. 

“Fair enough, just wanted to put you at ease.”

“It’s true then, he’s back?”

He nods, a lump forming his throat as he thinks about how little they have left with him.

“Only for about twelve more hours.”

“How?  He just showed up on your door step?”

“I saved someone the other night, I don’t think she was human, or where she could have possibly come from.  She talked about humans like she wasn’t one, and her tone was almost biblical with the perspective she used.  He knocked on our door the next morning.”

She’s quiet as she digests this before nodding.

“May I?”

Matt thinks he should have expected this, but he can only chuckle before he nudges open the door with a shaking hand.  Her steps are concentrated determination ahead of him, and he thinks he knows just how well his parents fit together.  Another day he will think on what might have been, if the doctors had helped with her depression, if his father had stayed down.  Would they have come back to each other, been able to forge a friendship?  These thoughts are chased away as his mother turns the corner and comes into view of the kitchen, her heart spiking the moment her eyes find him.  Jack’s back is to her, but Foggy’s pleasant _hello sister_ is enough to turn his head.

Her heart stutters in her chest, he’s guessing when their eyes meet, and he feels a bubble of concern when she doesn’t breathe for a long moment.  His father’s vitals are erratic across from her, and he hears the heavy noise of his glass making contact with the kitchen table.  Jack moves so fast his chair clatters to the floor, escaping his notice at his back as he steps closer to her.

Foggy thinks the man must just be naturally good around skittish creatures.  He stops only a yard or so away from her, though it’s clear he aches to close the distance.  He swallows thickly, and Matt can make out enough of him that he’s looking between his wife and son, his gaze never lingering too long on one or the other. 

“Maggie?  Matty, what?“

“I met sister Maggie not too long ago.  She helped save me.”

Jack’s tone is breathless while his gaze takes in Matt behind her, looking guilty but hopeful at her shoulder.  His wife, and the mother of their child in the same room with their son.  She indulges in a step closer, and another until her trembling hands take one of Jacks worn and massive ones between her own with a tenderness that makes hearts ache around the room.

“It really is you.”

Matt takes his place beside Foggy in the kitchen, splitting his focus between oiling and salting the pan of vegetables while listening to his parents.  _God, his parents_.  Dinner is placed in the oven, leaving them with a half an hour that hopefully wont all be awkward silence. 

Maggie and Jack’s hearts are nearly indistinguishable as his father lifts his mother off of her feet in a crushing embrace.  Father Lantom is turning a blind eye to it all with a soft, maybe sad sort of smile according to the narrations Foggy is whispering under his breath.  Jack places a chaste kiss on her forehead as he returns her to her feet, a rush of warmth spreading in his cheeks as he takes in the cross that is hanging by a chain around her neck. 

“I’m not gonna get you in trouble with that am I?”

She shakes her head and leans around the former boxer to smile at the priest, still sitting at the table and now talking with Foggy.  The large man seems oddly unsettled, and it tickles Matt again, who’s memories were always full of strength and confidence.

“Is he how you two found each other?  After I was gone?”

Matt knows he can’t lie to save his life, and he is all too sure his father would see though any attempt at getting through this without bringing up his nocturnal activities.  Maggie saves him though, hands spreading in a reassuring gesture.

“Matthew crossed my path a few times over the years, though we didn’t know who we were looking for at the time.  We began speaking about things not too long ago though.”

As much as he doesn’t want to let them, wants to keep them close, Matt knows that they need to talk, biting the inside of his cheek to find the right words.

“We’ll be ready to eat in half an hour or so.” 

His throat is tight when he swallows, the pressure of their gazes making the skin on his scalp tingle. 

“There must be things that you guys want to talk about without an audience.”

Maggie and Jack make a very similar noise of skepticism at the same moment, a beat of silence following them before they are chuckling with quiet mirth. 

“Are you a trustworthy source to be fueling the rumor mill Saint Matthew?”

His mother is joking though, seeming thankful of the offer as she nods.

“Five minutes then.  Perhaps your husband can hold your attention for that long?”

Jack’s laugh is like a crack of thunder, and he follows the train of thought, giving Matt a slight push in the direction of the table where Foggy and Father Lantom are still seated.

“Go talk about your second wedding, because you know it’s going to happen as soon as Foggy’s mama sees him with a ring.”

And if that isn’t a full distraction in itself the way Foggy’s heart stutters in an alarming way is.  Matt is at his side in an instant, tilting his face up as he frets in concern, missing his parent’s quick exit up the stairs and through the door of the roof exit.  Foggy folds a hand over Matt’s, sighing before he answers with a faint voice. 

“Mom is going to kill me, I got married without her.”

Matt slides a chair over to sit across from him, their knees touching.

“We can wait on the rings until we plan something with them, then…”

Even the thought of removing the steel band makes his chest ache, but he would do it in a heartbeat to ease some of Foggy’s anxiety.

“No!  No, I’ll tell her we just got engaged.  She knows how extra I am, of course I’d wear my ring as soon as I got it.”

Matt has to guess by the way the priest is laughing at his side that Foggy is displaying the band of gold with a cocked wrist and pointed fingers like some Hollywood starlet. 

“I mean, we’ll probably have to get married again though, this hasn’t been a new idea to mom in years.  You should have heard the talking to when I told her we were finally dating.  We could do it at the church if you want though.  A real catholic wedding, just with a Nelson family reception.”

He’s smiling by that point and leans forward to kiss Matt lightly.  The idea is slightly terrifying, the idea of a mass of people, their eyes on him, their bodies packed in with a focus around him.  But he knows how happy it would make Foggy, to do the romantic thing from start to finish with flowers and photos and all the things he heard women gush about when they toured the church in his childhood. 

“Anything to make you happy Fogs, but I don’t think either of us qualify to wear white.”

Foggy punches him in the arm with a decent amount of force, but Matt only laughs, catching the next strike and using it to his advantage to pull Foggy closer. 

“Think about it, you’ll wear blue, I borrow a tie clip, my glasses can be old.  I’m sure we could make an excuse for something new…”

“You’re cheesy Murdock, anyone ever tell you that?”

“Only you I think.”

“Well it better stay that way, I kind of like this side of you, and I’m not up to sharing.”

Foggy breaks their hold with a kiss to his cheek, going to check on dinner in the oven before Matt can hear him open the fridge in search of something.  He makes a small noise, followed by further shuffling before he shuts the door.  There’s the opening and closing of cabinet doors, a sigh of what must be agitation clinging to the sound. 

“Hey Matt, want to walk down to the bodega with me?  I thought we had wine, but I was apparently as blind as you and it’s a desert red, and I refuse to tarnish dinner by drinking whiskey with it.”

He tilts his head his parents are still talking above them, and he wrestles enough self-control to stop himself from focusing on the words, so he can make sense of it all.  He stands, finding his way to the kitchen to grab his wallet off of the counter top before slipping it into his pocket. 

“Sure, we’ve got time to kill.”

Father Lantom seems relieved at the idea of some peace and quiet.

 

* * *

 

Maggie and Jack enter the loft to find it mostly empty, Father Lantom the lone party flipping through one of Matt’s abandoned newspapers.  They share a glance that must speak volumes, because the other man speaks without prompting, thumping his way to the next page.

“They ran to the corner for a moment.  Franklin seemed to be skeptical of Matthew’s ability to mind his own business if I am guessing correctly.  I believe they wanted to give the older generation a moment of privacy as well, should you have any questions.”

The Murdock couple shares a glance, because they were never divorced, that was one of the things they spoke about, Jack worried it would affect her title, but she reluctantly pointed out that if anything she would be considered a widow.  If that thought hadn’t been sobering, nothing shy of the shadow of death at his shoulder would have been.  He shakes his head, smiling nonetheless.

“Those boys know too much for their own good. “

“Between the two of them, they make a fully functional adult too.”

Maggie is jesting though, and the look that she shares with Paul Lantom is one of well weathered frustrations that they must have been hauled through by Matthew.

“Matthew had requested I stay for dinner, already thankful for the ceremony.  But he wishes for your last rites to be given in person this time.”

There’s no easy way to reference a murder, and this is the most polite way to do it.

“Thank you, Father.  If it means that much to Matty, I won’t oppose it.  I’ve been somewhere, I don’t know if a break from that changes where I’ll go back to or not, but maybe real rites will get me an upgrade to fist class.”

He tries to laugh, his accent thick with emotion and what feels something like the memory of nerves.  I’s been so long, this experience so pleasant that any negative emotion is a distant buffer of sensation he can’t really contain with a name.  Jack nods, mostly to himself, and feels himself come back to something more grounded when Maggie clasps one of his large hands between her two small ones.

“We will pray for you, and for Matthew when this comes to a close.  It wont be easy for him, but I believe he will be better for it.  Miss Page has told me in passing that Matthews dragging feet in the subject of marriage has been causing Franklin quite the amount of frustration.

They share a laugh, both reminded all too well of Jack’s same feelings, not wanting to tarnish Maggie’s reputation, to tie her to a life beside a brute of a boxer. 

“Thank you both for takin care of him, even if it’s a new thing.  I’m glad he has it, anything is more important than having nothing at all.”

 

* * *

 

Nelson and Murdock, (who needs hyphens, they have a sign), make it half way down the block before Foggy can man handle Matt into the small alcove of a store front, the windows quiet with after five closing times  He crowds him, pressing their bodies together from shoulders to knees as he kisses him breathless, hands carding through dark fly away hair before his nails scratch deliciously at the crown of his head. 

A passing group whistles and cat calls at Foggy’s back, but it’s good natured, interrupting the shared kiss as smiles take hold of their lips.  They hold hands as they finish the short trip their destination, still as Foggy picks up a bottle here and there to read the label to Matt.  They settle for a sauvignon blanc that’s supposed to be fruit forward and good with chicken, though those details are lost on him as Foggy let's go of his hand to slip it into the back pocket of Matt’s pants, squeezing a palm full of ass that makes him squeak in response. 

He’s cornered again on the way back, though he instigates it, pulling Foggy against him as he steps back into a small line of decorative bushes a bakery has left at their entrance.  Matt gasps at Foggy bites at a discreet spot below his collar, the edge of his shirt growing damp with the heat of his breath as he mouths at the skin, arousal wafting off of him like rain on hot pavement.  He wants nothing more to continue this, but there are things back at the apartment, important things, and he lets his mouth get the better of him, despite choking on the words.

“Don’t think I don’t know you’re distracting me.”

Foggy blows a raspberry against his throat, and the blind man squirms for an escape that isn’t even close to available.

“Sorry buddy, but I know you too well.  You were going to sit there and brood until you heard something you shouldn’t.  This was a better bet.  Plus, we did need wine.”

He’s faced with Matt’s squinty “I know what you’re doing, and I don’t like it” face, though there’s the dip at the corner of his mouth that says he knows Foggy is right.  The absurdity of how married they are, have been, slaps him across the face.  Marci would puke if she saw this.  He itches to send her a picture of the ring but he isn’t risking that until he can talk to his mom.

“Come on, we’ve been gone long enough, and I’ll let you play footsie with me under the table if you’re good.”

Matt offers his hand this time, stunning him for a moment before he grins brighter than the full moon rising in the sky and takes it, leading them back home. 

The rest of the evening passes in a pleasant sort of loudness that he could only expect from his two favorite people in the world.  Their home is full of laughter and flowing wine, good food and talk of everything but the future. 

He hears stories he was too young to hear before he lost his father, how he met her at a boxing match, how she agreed to help him because of his eyes that reminded her of the ocean.  How Maggie had gotten caught up in a peaceful protest and the violent counter one that followed, using her slight frame and Jack’s reputation in the kitchen to slip out of trouble that could have meant jail time if she wasn’t as lucky.

It seems all too soon when the hour is getting late and they move to the small living area with little ceremony, Jack and Paul taking to the pair of arm chairs Matt had placed across from the couch.  Matt and Maggie follow him with the sign of the cross, and Foggy places a hand on his knee as the priest begins with an act of contrition prayer.  Jack follows him, accent heavy in his voice as emotion settles over them all.  He leads him through the Apostles Creed, assisting Jack with the repetition.

_“I believe in God, the Father Almighty, creator of heaven and earth. Do you believe in Jesus Christ? I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried; he descended to the dead.”_

There’s the metallic sound of a flask, and the sudden smell of clean water before Matt assumes Father Lantom anoints his father with holy water from the church.  He’s not the only one crying he notices, the apartment full of the smell of tears and the sounds of grief, voices and saliva thick in closing throats, erratic heartbeats of nerves. 

Matt embraces Maggie and Paul as the rise, and does so again at the door, thanking them alongside Foggy for all they had done for them that evening.  He promises to come by the church later that week.  There’s a sort of finality when he closes and locks the door, the home now so quiet with just the three of them. 

Foggy squeezes his hand, and leads him back to spend the last night he has with his father. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Netflix Jack had the prettiest eyes and y'all can fight me <3  
> Passages used by father Lantom  
> song of solomon 8:6  
> Ecclesiastes 4:9  
> Matthew 19:6


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One more, maybe two. This has been a huge personal challenge for me, and I'm so proud to have finally completed it, even if it did take me a bit longer than I originally meant to. I'll be participating in DD bingo so subscribe to see the fun still that I hope to be releasing into the wilds of AO3 soon!

**6am**

**47 Hours**

 

* * *

 

None of them really slept after dinner and other events of the evening, not with what was coming, with not knowing _how_ it was going to happen.  There was the knowledge that an argument would be moot, that it would end up in a fight that nobody wanted.  So Foggy pulled out some records and put them on, stretched out on the floor and complained about eating too much cake while Matt laughed at him from his spot at Jack’s side. 

Jack told them about how he met Maggie, about falling out with his family, about hers never supporting her.  He spoke about how much he loved her, how hard it was to see her go, but how he knew in his heart that he would do it again to help her.  Jack said he wished he could have made her believe that he loved her, that he always did and always would.  He wished he could have helped her believe that God had not abandoned her, that she didn’t deserve the punishment she thought she had brought upon herself. 

Matt manages to doze off at some point, catching a power nap in the silent apartment, his head pillowed on his father’s thigh as large fingers rub soothingly at his scalp.  Foggy and Jack talk quietly, about the past, about the future.  It doesn’t last long, and soon Matt is up again, eyes wide and searching as he asks his father for more, to tell him everything he can about his life and what Matt didn’t know about it.  Foggy dozes in and out, laughs at Jack’s stories and tells embarrassing ones about Matt that has Jack wiping tears from his eyes as Matt scowls at the space just above his left shoulder. 

He hauls himself up off of the floor and makes coffee around three in the morning, needing something to keep him going, knowing that it will help solidify Matt, give him confidence that he won’t miss anything in these final moments.  Jack’s voice is softening as they get closer, telling Matt about how small he was as a baby compared to him, how terrified he was of holding him, hurting him.  How petrified he was of being a father.  He tells him about the mobile he had that had been made by one of their neighbors, stars and miniature boxing gloves spinning lazily over his crib. 

These conversations tell Matt things he had forgotten about himself, his favorite color had been red, because that’s what his daddy wore, though he liked yellow there for a while because of a girl with pig tails in kindergarten.  Foggy coos at him over that, jokes about how he had been a flirt from the start.  He had loved reading even before the accident, and Jack had been on the verge of tears when the teacher once told him he was reading grades above his classmates, and that he enjoyed it.  They talk about Matt learning to stitch up Jack’s cuts, how Jack decided that as long as Matt would be stubborn enough to insist he do it, that Jack would have him unless it needed to be treated in the ring.

Foggwell’s comes up of course, how could it not being a majority of Matt’s home as he grew up.  The grizzled and war rough veterans training from chairs or bullshitting at the edge of the training rooms.  Matt getting homework from help from someone they called “Blue” because he was a retired teacher, Matt always the first to get the comics from the Sunday papers that got passed around when he came in early with his dad on the weekends.  Jack refusing for his boy to become a fighter and knowing damn well that the boys in the gym were teaching him how to hit and how to guard, because he was Jack’s boy, and they knew damn well he was going to get into a fight sooner or later. 

“You had that gym full of sea dogs wrapped around your finger the first day I carried you in there.”

A snap thought from Foggy has him scrambling around in the closet for his collection of electrical paraphernalia he keeps out of sight and usually out of mind, a cry of victory leaving him as he finds the cord and its attachment he knew he hadn’t gotten rid of.  It’s a decent quality microphone he used to use for days in court where Matt didn’t want to miss anything, but they needed someone at the office for other matters.  Some quick scrambling and he’s got it down and in the place of one of the ear pieces from the stethoscope they keep in the first aid kit.  Jack is nice enough not to ask about the well-stocked kit, and after some fiddling, they’ve got the solid and steady beat of Jack’s heart playing from the speakers of Foggy’s phone as tears well in Matt’s eyes. 

OoOoO

The sky is lightening outside of the window what feels like all too soon, a natural glow that is warm above the artificial light of the billboard.  Matt should look ridiculous as he worms himself into Jack’s lap, too big even with Jack’s impressive size, but the picture of the two of them about breaks his heart. 

Foggy’s been taking secretive photos on his phone over the span of whatever this has been with them, and he takes another now, the boys so focused on each other that they could be the only people in the universe.  Foggy is sure he would give himself up for Matt to have that if he ever had the choice.  Matt’s voice is hoarse and quiet when he speaks, earnest as he tries to convey how much he cared for Jack, idolized and respected him.  How much he had missed him, how much he was going to. 

“I love you daddy.  I was always so proud of you, still am.”

Jack’s face crumples and Foggy looks away to give them their privacy.  Matt had always said that his dad was a softie, more bark than bite, especially with his son.  He presses them close, buries their faces in each other’s shoulders.  Matts voice is beyond broken as he shifts and speaks into the space above Jack’s heart, and Foggy shares a silent look with Jack.  He wants to give Matt this, just his father in the end, and Foggy will be there waiting to pick up the pieces when the clock strikes its mark.  Jack motions for him to join them, and they all cram onto the couch for a moment, Jack’s arm wrapping around his shoulder as the other holds Matt close.

  
“I want you both to know how proud I am of you.  Of who you’ve become for yourselves and each other.  I always knew you boys would make great lawyers, would make each other happy.  Just had to wait for you to figure it out too.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Done! Thank you to everyone who has read this until the end, I reall appreciate the support and love your comments. 
> 
> I have a bonus chapter in the works, and a few out takes I'm cleaning up that will be connected to this series.

7am

48 hours

 

* * *

 

There’s a clap of thunder as the clock on the wall clicks to seven and Foggy blinks in a startled reaction, not even aware of an incoming storm.  The boom seems to come from directly above them, the sound deafening even to his own ears, and he winces in sympathy for Matt's.  In the fraction of a second it takes for him to reopen his eyes, Jack vanishes back to wherever it was that he had come from two days ago.  Matt is a hunched form on the couch, and he scrambles over the worn leather, hands splayed on the spot where Jack sat just seconds ago, their grasp a painful sort of spasm as he searches for any remaining trace of his Father. 

He reaches Matt in only a few strides, his husband he thinks in an off handed way, just as a broken noise seems to explode from him.  It’s a pain fueled kind of wail that makes his ears buzz, and he reaches his side in only a few steps, letting his knee bump against the couch to alert Matt of his presence before he touches him.  The blind man flies into his arms as soon as he feels them against his shoulders, great wracking sobs jerking his body against Foggy’s front as he gathers him into his embrace.  He presses his head over his heart, holds on just as tight as Matt clutches him almost painfully when another noise of agony tears its way from his throat.  His dark hair tickles his chin and Foggy presses a kiss to the top of his head, his own heart breaking for the other.    

Foggy holds him through it all, lets his tears soak the front of his shirt as his hands rove over Matt’s back, slipping beneath his shirt to give him the grounding of skin to skin contact he know Matt is too wounded, too stubborn to ask for.  Matt is soothed and rocked gently, murmured to with soft voice and softer words of comfort as he subsides to quiet and body wracking sobs, interrupted by a fleeting hiccup or two.   

It takes some time for Matt to settle enough to be able to comprehend a question, and Foggy’s able to get some weak tea into him, the lukewarm brew like a balm to his raw throat.  Once moved to speak, though, his words are quiet, asking Foggy if the past couple of days had really happened.  Foggy assures him that it did, takes his hands and slowly twists the band of metal on his ring finger to remind him, the soft click of connecting metal bitter sweet in this moment. 

They cling to each other as they finally make the move to the bedroom, raw with a fear that the other will vanish too if they allow their grip to falter.  Neither know how much time has passed, the rain still beating heavily on the roof over their heads as thunder crawls over the city.  Matt latches onto Foggy’s front again as soon as they are under the covers, scared that he will disappear too if he doesn’t touch him, doesn’t hold some sort of contact.  Foggy is so good to him and lets him, pulling back only to remove their shirts before he presses impossibly closer, kissing Matt’s forehead, his cheeks and lips, anything he can touch to reassure Matt.    

Soft hands are at his back, and the smell of fresh salt is starling as he realizes Foggy is weeping too, quiet as he comforts him in his grief.  The feeling is soothing as he presses back against the touch, warm and gentle, and present in this moment that he thinks might finally kill him.  Foggy’s phone lies between them, and he plays the recording they had made only a few hours ago, the heartbeat loud and familiar in the silent space of the bedroom.

The couple sleeps through the day restlessly, murmured words and lingering touches traded as the time ticks past and the windows grow dark.  They manage with a little bit of left overs when Foggy knows they should eat, though neither have much of an appetite, its better than nothing.  The pair is nearly attatched at the hip as they move through the nightly routine, a bone deep depression hanging like the clouds over head as they shower and brush their teeth before returning to the bed, the sleep deprivation of the last two days finally dragging them into a dreamless sleep. 

 

OoOoO

 

The next few days are hard, but they manage with Foggy keeping Matt afloat as they fall back into their routine.  With the law office, they are forced out and onto the sidewalks on Monday morning, the world moving on as if nothing had ever happened.  Karen notices the rings on the spot, and grins at Foggy.  They give their earnest thanks before Matt hustles himself into his office, circling mind needing something to focus on.  Karen gives him a questioning look but seems to understand that she’ll have an answer eventually.  She treats them to coffee later that afternoon, real brew from the café on the corner, and Matt gives her a sad smile paired with a kiss on the cheek in thanks before he burrows himself back into the pile of work he’s built up for distraction. 

Maggie calls and checks in on them half way into the week, passes along a word from Paul and stops by the office with dinner to take home the next day.  One less thing to worry about she tells them.  She and Matt are still figuring each other out, but she hugs Foggy, hugs Matt longer and sighs into it.  As rocky as they are Foggy knows that she is the closest one to understand Matt's grief, a grief you've felt and worked through once, only to have to revist it like a fresh wound once again.  After a scene like that, Matt is kind enough to give Karen the run down, and they all head home early with a sign on the door after their final client leaves. 

By the time the weekend rolls around Matt anf Foggy are both mentally and near physically exhausted.  They take care of chores that need to be done, but otherwise spend the rest of their down time in bed.  It’s the first time they have sex since before Jack arrived, for the obvious reasons, and it’s like they are relearning each other for a time, until the seriousness of it is broken and replaced with laughter and the familiarity of each other’s bodies.  Matt calls it making love, and Foggy teases him about it, promises he will continue to as he places a kiss on his worry free brow. 

Monday gets a late start for the Murdock side of the business, he had been out late dealing with a fire and following chaos, and hadn’t come in until the sun was rising, exiting the shower still faintly smellign of smoke as Foggy was climbing out of bed.  Matt manages to drag himself into the office around noon, using his smoke tasting cough as a minor cold and the following excuses.  Foggy checks him over again and makes him drink a glass of water until the heavy fall of boots carries a body past their door clearly marked with _closed_   _for lunch_. 

“Hey boys.”

Jessica Jones has been in their office only a few times, luckily each visit more pleasant than the last.  Matt can smell whiskey in her coffee, and only smirks as she grinds her teeth, no doubt knowing exactly what he’s doing as his nostrils flare.  She passes a bulky legal envelope from her bag to Foggy, leaning comfortably against a wall as she watches him pop the seal with an interest he hasnt seen often in her.  Jessica’s heart is beating quicker than normal, which is out of character for her, but all attention shifts to Foggy when his spikes with a hard beat at his side.  Jess is sort of smiling, smiling in her own way he guesses, when she speaks.

“Rand is sending you guys a 3-D printer as a wedding present, despite the fact that he didn’t get to be there like I did.  A gift that will keep on giving.”

“You what?”

She’s good at stirring up the pot, but she isn’t lying, and he doesn’t know what good a 3-D printer would do them in a legal office.  Foggy shuts him up before he can start with the acusations and takes his hands, settling a postcard sized chunk of plastic into it.  He can feel the printing lines, then slowly as he gets closer to the middle, larger rises and dips.  It takes him a level of focus to diatance himself from the smaller details, to look at the bigger picture so to speak.  He clears his throat, and the piece lights up against his radar in his hands, four bodies standing against the skyline of New York.

Foggy presses another one into his hands, and after some adjusting he can tell it’s the pair of them, smiling softly against the back drop.  They are all various shots of the wedding, though the last one makes his knees go weak as his fingers take in every detail of his father’s face.  Jack is grinning wide, hands on Matt’s shoulders as they stand close.  It’s intimate and perfect and his heart aches so much even remembering it.  Matt’s throat is tight when he looks up, questioning.

“How? 

“Your husband gave me a call and asked how good my lenses were.  I was a few buildings over.  You were pretty tied up, but it was nice to see an actual smile from you.  I have the files from the others, but Rand says you’ll be able to print almost anything with the thing he’s sending your way.”

His fingers still on the last photo, one of himself and his father with nothing else to detract from the detail.  It’s even clearer after he speaks, the small reverberations off of the textured material pinging bright within his radar.  It’s not the same as “seeing him” but it’s as close as Matt will probably ever get again.

He places them delicately on the desk and gets close enough to sweep Jessica into a hug without warning, stunning her and Foggy, and she pacifies him with a pat on the back.  She’s smaller than he had expected, knowing enough of her height and general size, but under the bulky layers he guesses she would be more petite than Karen.  He sets her down as he struggles, metaphorical feathers ruffled from her usual stony exterior.  He's honest though, holding one of her hands to truly convey it.  

“Thank you, really.  I can’t thank you enough.”

Later that evening Foggy holds him as they look at them on the couch at home, kisses away his tears after he arranges them on the coffee table to look at amidst the noise of their home.  They make love that night, tender and knowing, and Matt sends a silent prayer for his father, and another for the life that he was given because of him.

 

End.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://a-marvel-fueled-dumpster-fire.tumblr.com/)!

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [ Tumblr](http://a-marvel-fueled-dumpster-fire.tumblr.com)


End file.
